


The Most Important Thing

by unholyseraphs (oncharredwings)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Artist!Dean, Fluff, Lots of Angst, M/M, couples fighting, struggling artists, there is a happy ending though, writer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncharredwings/pseuds/unholyseraphs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel and Dean are working on a graphic novel and struggling to make money. Angst ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Important Thing

**Author's Note:**

> For [Nadia](http://buckybaarnes.co.vu/) in a fic exchange; she requested
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _struggling artist au_

"Son of a bitch!" The cheap card table jerked and jangled as Dean brought his fists down on top of its worn out surface. He had been working and busting his ass on the latest images for his and Castiel's graphic novel, but the art just wouldn't flow. They had bills to pay, rent was due, and they were already down on the internet and cable. Soon the power would be turned off, and the heat, and water to follow. They desperately needed cash, and this novel was the only real source of income if they could get the damn thing finished on time. 

His hours at the Gas n' Sip were not enough to make the bills, and Castiel worked weekends at Paragraphs, the small town's bookstore, but it still wasn't enough. Nothing was ever really  _enough,_ not in this economy at least. The novel needed to be finished on  _time_ , and then they could finally send it off to the publisher and hopefully make a decent paycheck. At least something to tide them off, get them into a nicer neighborhood, and some new supplies so they could dive into a sequel. 

The graphic novel itself was about a monster hunter - dashing, a bit rude, with a drinking problem - and his best friend, who happens to be an angel from Heaven, go on an adventure to save the hunter's brother from Hell and Satan himself. Castiel had proposed the story to him after a visit with Dean's mentally institutionalized brother, Sam. Dean had been amused by the idea but he had not been too keen on writing his brother's delusions into a reality. But then a few nights later he had woken Castiel up at four in the morning, shaking him over and over until his lover had finally rolled over in annoyance. 

_"What?" Castiel had hissed.  
Dean stared at Castiel for a moment and then kissed him. "Write the story Baby, I'm going to draw it. We could make some money... I could work through my crap... and you could get your career rolling." _

After Dean had given Castiel his blessing, the story had started back in Lawrence, Kansas. One demonic house fire later, leaving two brothers orphaned, and their father so lost in his own darkness that he became a drunk, and obsessed with finding the mother's killer,  _Supernatural_  had begun. Castiel had assigned Dean the artwork, and despite the urge to make them similar to how he, Sam, and Castiel looked in real life, Dean decided to change things around. 

He made himself the angel; the guardian of the hunter. The angel had tawny hair, green eyes, and a spattering of freckles across his cheeks; he was obsessed with pie, his shotgun, and his hunter's Chevy Impala. While he was not the most  _conventional_  angel, Deanaeyel -  _you can call me Dean -_ was fierce and fantastic. 

He had made Castiel the hunter, his name simply shortened to Cas. The hunter wrote a godawful tan trench coat, a backwards blue tie, and a suit too big for his frame, and he was awful with guns. He preferred knives over guns. 

Last but not least, Dean had come to realize he didn't know how he wanted to play out Sam's delusions, or if he should include Sam's name int he story at all, or if they should ask permission of Castiel's real life brother, Gabriel, to be a part of the story. In the end, Dean and Castiel had come to a consecutive decision not to have Sam's name tied to the story, and Gabriel had volunteered to be the brother who was locked away in Hell, eventually to be possessed by Lucifer. 

Even though they both worked on pseudonyms, Dean had not wanted Sam to actually be dragged into the story anymore than he already had with them stealing his delusions for their plot. Sure, Castiel had to fill the holes, but it was still mostly a world his brother had created to cope with their parents' violent ends. His mother had died in a house fire, while his father had ate a bullet around the time Sam had turned nine. Sam had found their father's body, while Dean had been in detention. Afterwards, he had snapped and his world had completely unraveled. 

After some violent activity, Bobby Singer - the Winchester's guardian, a crotchety, grizzled man who loved the boys like his own - had decided to put Sam in a mental institution to try and keep him safe. They had had some hope that Sam would get better, but he had been in the place since he was twelve, and it was some fifteen years later now. Dean had given up hope that he would ever see his little brother mentally in one piece, even though he prayed to whomever was listening to make it happen. 

After Sam had been put away, Dean had struggled, putting Bobby through too many trials he realized now. He had dropped out of high school at seventeen, and gotten his GED by twenty-one. After he had received the GED, Dean had fled South Dakota and Bobby's care to California, hoping to make his way in the real world. In all honesty, he had been hoping to find a modeling or acting job; he knew they made good money out in Hollywood, and money was not easy to come by. 

However, California had given him no luck, and he ended up working a shit job as a dishwasher for a few years, until he had been bumped up to doing prep work. By the time he turned twenty-seven, Dean realized that his life was going nowhere fast, and he had wasted his prime away by going to bars, getting drunk, having cheap sex, and basically becoming his father. If there was one thing that Dean did not want to do, it was become a version of John Winchester. So, with that revelation clear in his mind, Dean left California to stay with Bobby for a year, to regain his footing. He worked at Singer's Auto, and gained real life skills. 

He learned how to take care of himself in that year. But when Bobby passed away from a sudden heart attack, Dean had found himself with no family, and nowhere to stay; he couldn't afford Bobby's house, and had ended up selling it, as well as the auto shop, which had left him with enough money to keep Sam in the mental hospital, as well as finding a new home in a smaller and less expensive town. In the smaller, less expensive town, he had met Castiel Novak; a blue eyed, dark haired, semi socially inept, sweater wearing, coffee and cat loving man from the East Coast. 

Castiel had left his family's fortune to come out West and try to make a name for himself as an artist; he had gone to RISD to receive a Bachelor's in the Fine Arts, and soon after had attended SAIC to gain his Master's, but with the job market plummeting, he had found no work. They had met in the library, when Dean had accidentally bumped into him, almost spilling his coffee all over the poor guy. Castiel had not cared about that, he had just been worried about the books in his arms. Dean had found him to be tragically beautiful, like the heroes' lovers from sagas and poems. 

After their first meeting, Dean had started to stalk the library on his day's off from the gas station, until he found Castiel again, daring to ask the man for his number. The beautiful Castiel had been flustered, but they had exchanged numbers, and a date happened soon after. Followed by another date, and then another, until he had found himself fucking Castiel hard and fast into his cheap mattress. The guy's cats made him sneeze, and his sweater's made him itch, but he put up with all of it because he had found himself head over heels in love with Castiel. Moving in together had been the next step, and now they were here, together and (mostly) happy. 

They'd be happier if they could make some money for the bills. Sometimes, like now for example, Dean grew frustrated that Castiel was too proud to ask his family for financial assistance. They  _needed_  the money but Castiel still refused; he had even given up both of his cats to new families because they had not been able to afford them. Dean hoped, with this novel finished on time, and a paycheck in hand, he could get Castiel another cat. And he could finally get the Impala fixed; he missed his Baby deeply. 

"Dean, are you alright?" Castiel asked as he padded into Dean's small work room, which was no bigger than a small sewing room really. They had barely been able to fit the table inside so Dean could have a private space to draw and crank out the art for the novel. 

"Yeah Babe, I'm fine," he called over his shoulder tiredly. "I just need to get some sleep, I guess. I can't concentrate enough to get this scene done." 

"I'm sorry Dean," Castiel whispered. 

Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not your fault, Baby." Which was not completely true; Castiel had yet to finish the story... and without the end decided, Dean couldn't make the art for the novel. Without the finalized art for the novel, they would not meet their deadline. 

"It is my fault," Castiel replied with a sigh that made Dean remember that Castiel was just as tired as him. 

"It's fine Cas...just try and get it done, okay?" he glanced back at Castiel and felt his heart break; his poor baby looked so exhausted, his face pale and gaunt, his eyes sunken into his skull, and the circles were so dark along his cheekbones that he looked like some sort of drug addict. "God, you look awful." 

"You don't look much better," Castiel pointed out. 

Dean felt his lips half lift into a small smirk of a smile; he was sure he looked just as shitty as Cas did. They both desperately needed sleep and showers, but had time for neither. In fact, they haven't even had time to connect intimately since crunch time. He missed the feel of Castiel's skin beneath his fingers, and the taste of his lips and tongue; he missed sliding deeply inside Castiel, becoming one entity with him as they moved together until orgasm. He just really missed Cas. 

"Yeah," he agreed. "I know. We could both use a damn shower." 

"The water's shut off," Castiel whispered. 

Dean blinked and cursed. "Fuck-I didn't know- _damn it_!" Well, that decided it; he had to finish this art  _now_ , and Castiel needed to write the damn ending. "Baby, you gotta finish the story. We can't just keep going without water, okay? Cable and internet I can live without, but we need water." 

Castiel nodded. "I'll try Dean. I don't want to force it-" 

"Well, you might have to!" He hadn't meant to yell at Cas, but the words roared out of his mouth at what felt line ninety miles an hour, if not faster. The look on Castiel's face made Dean feel as if he had struck him, and perhaps his words had. He should have apologized, but it was already one in the morning, and sleep deprivation, hunger, and the urge to shower were clouding his judgment. "Just finish the damn story Cas." 

There was no response and Dean glanced back over his shoulder to see if Castiel was still in the doorway, but it was an empty black maw to the small apartment beyond. He sighed and slowly turned his eyes back onto the illustration he had done up of himself as an angel; all big, tawny, freckly wings, and pouty lips. He remembered that Castiel had told him to make him less paunchy in the middle, tapping Dean lightly on the stomach; Castiel loved to tease him. Dean didn't mind; he  _liked_  pie damn it. There was nothing wrong with that. 

But he had taken Castiel's advice and had made his angel self magnificent, and well built. He just hoped the angel's physique drew in fans. The more fans they had, the more money they would make, and right now, money was all that really mattered at the moment. 

\--

"Dean? Dean do you know where my keys are? Dean?!" 

Dean groaned, slowly lifting his heavy head off of the table. A sharp pain stabbed his neck and then ran up to throb behind his eyeballs. Clearly, falling asleep at drawing had been an awful idea. There was a sharp rap on the door, which could only be Castiel knocking. 

"Dean, my keys?" 

"I dunno," he grumbled back. His entire face hurt, he needed a drink and a damn Vicodin at this rate. 

"What? I can't hear-" Castiel cut off when Dean opened the door. "I couldn't hear you." 

"I said I dunno," he replied tiredly, sliding around Castiel to wander down the hallway to their small kitchen, which was probably no bigger than their bathroom. 

"Fucking  _damn_ it!" Casitel wailed. 

Normally, he would have helped Castiel look for them but he needed a bottle of beer and a pain pill  _now_. He had to sleep this migraine away or he was going to never finish the artwork on time. "You finish the story?" he asked, his voice low with much needed sleep. 

"No," Castiel replied shortly as he looked under the ratty couch cushions. "Damn it! I need my keys! I'm already late, fuck-" 

He could hear Castiel clanging around in their bedroom, and each sound made Dean's head pound a little harder. He was ready to snap at Cas to be quiet, when the noises stopped finally, and there was blessed silence. Dean relaxed and popped the beer open, and began to stumble tiredly down the hallway to the bathroom to search for something to take for his headache. He just hoped Castiel still had Vicodin left over from his oral surgery a while back.

"Dean, what's this?"

Castiel's voice startled him so badly he dropped the bottle he had been trying to read the label on. "Damn it Cas." After picking the bottle up, he looked over to see what Castiel had in his hand; an envelope. An envelope that had a piece of paper that basically told them they had a month to pay their rent or they were out. He had hid the eviction notice from Castiel because he hadn't wanted to worry him. Denial had also been playing on him too; if they could just  _finish_  the novel-

"Dean!" Castiel snapped, shaking the paper to snap Dean out and into reality.  

"An eviction notice," he replied quietly. 

"When did we get this?" 

"I dunno...a while back I guess." Dean shrugged and returned to searching for pain pills. His headache was so insistent and bad now, that he felt like vomiting. Maybe if he did vomit he'd feel better. 

"And you just  _neglected_  to tell me?!" Castiel demanded, his voice rising. "Why would do  that?!" 

"I didn't wanna worry you, Cas." His voice was gruff and tired, and he hoped this would end the conversation. Couldn't Castiel see that he was not in the mood or right mind to talk about this at the present time?

"Dean if you had  _told_  me that we were doing  _this_  badly, I would have asked Gabriel for some help!" Castiel slammed the paper down in frustration. "I don't want us to  _lose_  our home! I don't want to live on the streets!" 

"Oh, but you wouldn't ask him or your folks for money for the water?! Or the internet? Or the cable?! Hell, you didn't even want to ask them for your cats! Well excuse  _me_  for thinking that you wouldn't want to ask them for fucking help, since you hadn't in the past! God, Cas, do you even  _listen_  to yourself when you talk, or does it all just flow out of you like vomit?!" 

Dean winced at what yelling made his head do; one more outburst and he would be on the floor, with a cracked skull. The medicine cabinet was lacking in Vicodin so Dean slammed it shut and glared at himself in the mirror. He looked like he were two steps away from knocking on Death's door. They both did. 

"I'm  _sorry_  Dean...I thought we could do it on our own, I guess I was wrong," Castiel said quietly. 

"Yeah," Dean growled, shoving his shoulder into Cas' chest to knock him out of his way. "You were." 

"Dean-" 

"I'm goin' to bed. Finish the fuckin' story Cas, and then I can do my part, and we can finally get fuckin' paid. Hopefully before they throw us out, alright?" Castiel said his name again but Dean was shutting and locking the bedroom door in his face. Someone's voice was in the back of his head, telling him not to go to bed angry. Was it his Mother? Bobby? Hell, was it his Dad? Dean shook his head and flopped down into the comforter and pillows. Sleep was calling his name, and he just couldn't fight the desire to be unconscious anymore. 

\--

The call came around four in the afternoon. Dean woke up to his cell phone ringing and buzzing on the nightstand. He groaned and slowly reached for the device, trying to register the caller ID but the number was not one he recognized. He almost let it go to voicemail but at the last second, he answered. 

"Yeah?" 

"Mr. Winchester?" 

"Yes?" he said slowly. 

"Hello, my name is Jessica, I'm a nurse at Mercy's Hospital and we have you as the emergency contact for Castiel Novak-" 

Dean sat up, jolting awake in an instant. 'Cas? What's wrong with him?" Oh God, what had happened to Cas?!

"Well, I can't give out much information on the phone, are you next of kin?" 

Dean stared at his hand; he had wanted to ask Castiel to marry him. Was that good enough? "I'm his husband," he lied. How would she know?

"Well, Castiel has been in an accident." 

"An accident? When? How-" 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, you'll have to come in person-" 

"Yeah, I'm coming." Dean hung up and jumped to his feet to yank on pants. Suddenly, deadlines and story endings didn't matter anymore, and neither did finding money for bills, water, or the rent. The only thing that mattered was the fact that Castiel was in the hospital because of an accident. Was he hurt? Was he alive? Was he going to make it? What had happened? All of these questions and more raced through his mind the entire way to the hospital, where he tore into the Emergency Room like a bat out of Hell. 

The nurse at the front desk looked up at him and gave him one of those smiles that Dean knew was half fake. "Hi, can I help you?" 

"I'm Dean Winchester-" 

"Oh yes," she said. "Well, Castiel has been moved to the ICU-" 

"The ICU? That's bad, right? That's-that's bad-" Dean stammered like a broken record. ICU meant bad things. "What happened?" 

"From what the police can gather, he was hit when he was crossing the street-" 

"By a  _car_?" Dean froze and felt his heart almost stop. Castiel hadn't been able to find his keys, he must have walked to work. 

"Yes. It's a miracle he survived at all. He has several broken bones, a collapse lung, contusions, bruises, and a major concussion, which is the greatest worry at the moment. The doctors are monitoring his brain for swelling." 

The world swayed dangerously. A car had hit Castiel  because he hadn't helped him find his keys... because he had been too exhausted and angry. They had had a stupid fight and now he was in the hospital.

The floor came up a lot faster than he expected. 

\--

" _There_  you are, you worried me so much." Castiel. Castiel was smiling at him, all huge and white. Glamorous. 

"Baby," he whispered. "Baby you're okay..." 

"Of course I'm okay, silly. You passed out, not me." 

Dean looked around and realized that they were in the living room, and he was lying on the couch. He sighed in relief. "Fuck, I had the  _worst_  dream." 

"Oh? What about?" Castiel sat down next to him, his head tilting in curiosity. 

"You-you were in a..." Dean trailed off as he watched a bruise start to blossom right under Castiel's skin like ink spreading through paper. "Cas?" 

"What was I in?" he asked, even as blood began to drip from his nostrils and trail down to his lips. "Dean? What was I in?" 

Castiel's skin bruised and swelled beneath his right eye, followed by his hairline growing crimson in color, as more blood began to run down his neck. Dean's eyes followed the blood, and saw that it was just blossoming underneath Castiel's sweater and jeans; there was so much of it, too much. This couldn't be happening. 

"Cas you're bleeding," he whispered in horror. "You're bleeding! Cas!" 

Castiel just kept staring at him, his elbow resting on the back of the couch, his head in his palm. "What was I in? What was the dream about? What happened?" 

Dean reached for Castiel, but his lips were turning blue. Why were his lips turning blue? His skin was turning so pale, as if he were dying. But there was so much blood, of  _course_  he was dying, he was bleeding out. "Cas! Cas you're bleeding-Baby you're bleeding!" 

"Dean, tell me about the dream," Castiel insisted. "Dean...Dean....Dean..." 

\--

" _Dean_." 

Air flooded back into his lungs and he sat up, almost knocking his head into Gabriel Novak's. "Cas-" 

"Whoa, whoa easy. Easy. It's me, it's Gabriel. They said you passed out. You alright?" Gabriel's hand went to squeeze Dean's shoulder. "Hey...dude, you look like you just saw a ghost-" 

"Where's Cas?" he demanded. "Where is he? Is he-..." He couldn't form the question,  _is he dead,_ because if the answer were yes, Dean wasn't sure if he could handle the reality. His dream world had been bad enough. 

"Cas? Cas is doing okay. They said he's looking better than they thought," Gabriel replied with a smile. "Cas is tough. He'll pull through. They were worried about you though, said your blood pressure is sky high, that's why they've got you all hooked up." 

Dean sighed, looking around, and finally realizing that was in a room, hooked up to monitors and everything. How were they going to afford this? Neither of them had medical insurance. No-no that didn't matter.  _Cas_  mattered. Cas was lying in a room, possibly dying. That was what mattered. "I feel fine," he whispered. 

"Yeah, they gave you some meds to lower your levels." 

"I wanna see Cas." 

"I don't think you can, I think it's just immediate family-" 

"I told them I was his husband." The words came out so brokenly that Dean could only lower his eyes to the blanket over his lap in shame. He loved Castiel and he wanted to marry him more than anything, he just hoped God granted him that chance. 

"Ah, well, you're still a patient, so I doubt they'll let you get up and walk-" 

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Dean asked. 

"They called. Been trying to reach a family member after you passed out. Finally got a'hold of me and here I am." Gabriel threw open his arms. "I just hope Cas is..okay." 

"You said they said he was doing better," Dean snapped. 

Gabriel shrugged. "Alright, I lied. He isn't doing better, but he isn't doing worse either, so that's good, yeah?" 

Dean sighed, letting his head fall back tiredly. No wonder he had such high blood pressure. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Good.”

A silence fell over them and Dean almost told Gabriel that he didn’t have to sit with him, when there was a loud commotion in the hallway. Gabriel was up and walking out before Dean could even ask about what was going on. He couldn’t see from where he was in the hospital room, but somehow he just knew. He _knew_ that it was Castiel, and that was enough to make him get up and drag his stupid monitors and IV’s with him. He dragged them down the hallway until he came to the room where all the fuss was going on. Gabriel was arguing with a nurse, and Dean finally came to stand by the glass. He could see Castiel inside, and the doctors were using the paddles on him.

Dean felt a scream bubble up out of his chest; he sounded so anguished that it made the nurse arguing with Gabriel stop and look at him. He pressed his hands to the glass of the door and screamed again. Castiel’s line was flat. It was _flat_. Castiel was dead.

\--

“Hey, are you the artist for _Supernatural_?”

Dean glanced up from his coffee and computer to meet the eyes of a young woman with dark hair. “Um, yeah I am,” he replied with a smile.

“Could I get you to sign my copy?” she asked hurried, digging into her bag to pull out the novel, which featured the angel and the hunter on the front, a red flaming background behind them.

“Sure,” he replied, his smile widening. He took the book and opened to the front of the jacket, eagerly signing away. The story had been finished Dean had found when he had gone home after his hospital stay. Castiel had finished it after all, and soon the artwork had followed, and he had sent it into the editors. A bigger paycheck than expected had followed, as had the fame. _Supernatural_ had been a hit.

“Thank you _so_ much,” she said excitedly.

Dean nodded, sliding the book and pen back to her. “Here you are.”

“Is the writer here too?” she asked then. “Is he with you?”

Dean’s smile wavered a bit. “Um he-“

“Yes. I’m here. I’m right here, sorry. Stupid line.” Castiel sank down into the chair opposite Dean.

“It’s okay Baby,” he whispered. His smile became fond and gentle as Castiel signed and talked to the girl about the story for a few minutes. They no longer had to really worry about money, but even if they did, Dean had learned after Castiel had flat lined, and been brought back a few tries later, that it didn’t really matter. The only thing that _did_ matter was Castiel, and the love he had for him. When they were alone again, Dean took Castiel’s hand, raised it up to his lips, and kissed his wedding band.

“What?” Castiel asked, as a blush bloomed across his cheeks.

“I just really love you,” he replied with a wink. “So much.”

“I love you too Dean.”

Dean gave Castie’s hand another kiss before letting it go slowly, returning his eyes to the laptop that Castiel had placed in front of him. They were working on the sequel to _Supernatural_ , and Castiel had mapped out the plot ahead of time, so Dean was skimming the outline. “So far so good, Babe.”

“Great.” Castiel’s smile, which always seemed to light up the world around him, flooded his face, and then he was turning the laptop back around so he could dive right in.

Dean leaned his chin into his palm and watched Castiel with the _hearts in his eyes_ stare (that was what Benny teased him about at least). But he couldn’t stop himself from staring at Castiel as if he were his world, because he _was_. Castiel was everything, and he was beyond thankful that he had been given the chance to make Castiel his forever.

“Dean, you’re staring,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean smirked and dropped his gaze shyly. “Shut up and drink your drink that’s so sugarized it ain’t coffee no more.”

Castiel stuck his tongue out at him playfully. “I will.”

Dean chuckled. “I know,” he replied.


End file.
